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WASHINGTON AT THE AGE OE TWENTY-EIVE 




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MOUNT VERNON: 



A LETTEK 



CHILDREN OP AMEEICA. 



BY THE 

AUTHOR OF " RURAL HOURS," Etc., Etc. 



NEW YORK : 
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, 

346 & 348 BROADWAY. 

M.DCCC.LIX. y 

^7 y}i^,y^ ^c.^A /f.^ 



.C17 



Entered, according to Act of Congress, iii the year 1858, by 

D. APPLETON & CO. 

In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States 
for the Southern District of New Torlv. 



PUBLISHEKS' XOTE. 



The readers of this little volume are 
indebted to tlie courtesy of Mr. George 
'P. Putnam, publislier of Irving's Life of 
Washington, for the two interesting illus- 
trations which embellish it. The medal- 
lion likeness of " Washington at Twenty- 
five " is now first engraved from the veri- 
table miniature presented by General 
Washington to his niece. 

New York, Decemler 15, 1858. 



MOUNT VERNON. 



Dear Children : 

You have all been taught from your cra- 
dles to honor the name of George Washing- 
ton. Many of you already know that Mount 
Vernon was his home, where he lived and 
died. Far away, m the good State of Vir- 
ginia, an old, gray, stone house, with tall 
piazza, and peaked roof, and overlooking 
cupola, stands on an elevated bank, which is 
beautifully shaded by many different trees, 
while the broad river Potomac flows grandly 
below — this is Mount Vernon. Good men 
love their homes. General Washington loved 
Mount Vernon very dearly. He loved those 
gray walls for the sake of the elder brother 
who had built them — Mr. Lawrence Wash- 
ington, who, in boyhood, had been kind as a 
1* 



10 MOUNT VERNON. 

father to him. He loved the great woods, 
with their noble timber, and aU the wild 
creatm-es sheltered there ; he loved the broad 
farms with their rich crops, their fresh springs, 
the patient flocks, and the kindly cattle feed- 
ing on the sweet grass of the field. Our 
Heavenly Father has given many gracious 
blessings to a country home ; and all these 
were enjoyed by General Washington, with a 
wisely thankful heart. 

It is more than a hundred years since 
George Washington first lived at Mount Ver- 
non. He went there a youth — a noble youth 
of fifteen, sound in body, ardent in temper, 
generous at heart, purely upright in word and 
in deed. Already, at that early day, he was 
fitting himself with care for the great work 
of life — ^by study, by forming healthy habits 
of body and of mind, by good thought and 
worthy action. 

Pause awhile, dear children ; turn eye and 
heart towards that quiet country home, on 
the banks of the Potomac. Remember all 
you have read, all that has been told to you, 
of the great man whose noble head was so 



MOUNT VEKNON. 11 

long sheltered beneath that roof. Remember 
his honorable youth ; see him first crossing the 
threshold of Mount Yernon, with his survey- 
ing instruments, when a growing lad of six- 
teen ; see him bravely making his way on 
foot, on horseback, through forests, over 
moimtain and marsh, exposed to all winds and 
weathers, ever diligent, ever trustworthy, ever 
faithM to the task of the hour. See him, 
when still a beardless lad, drawing maps, and 
making surveys, so correct in all then- parts, 
that to this day practised lawyers turn to 
them in cases of doubt and dispute. 

See him watching, in sickness, by the side 
of the kind brother who loved him so truly; 
see him intrusted with the guardianship of 
the little fatherless child, and the large prop- 
erty of that brother — he who was then himself 
but a youth under age. "Well and honorably 
indeed must his first years of manhood have 
been passed, to justify such a trust ! 

Observe him during the long struggle, and 
the many difficulties of the Old French War, 
as we call it in our histories. Behold him, at 
nineteen, one of those intrusted with the duty 



12 MOUNT VERNON. 

of prej)aring his native province for war. Call 
to mind all his toil, all his perils, when, a few 
months later, he travelled through the wilder- 
ness at mid-winter, bearing letters from the 
governor of Virginia to the French command- 
er, on the shores of Lake Erie. You remem- 
ber that long and perilous journey, with all its 
hourly dangers from the deep snows, the an- 
gry rivers, the cimning wiles of the enemy, 
the treachery of the savage hovering about his 
path, more fiercely cruel than the beasts of 
prey. You remember well that false traitor, 
the Indian guide, who offered to lead him 
through the wilderness, and then, suddenly 
turning from his side, raised his gun, took 
murderous aim, and fired at the unsuspecting 
young ofiicer ! You remember the humanity 
of Major Washmgton, who disarmed the vile 
wretch, but gave him his life. And the raft 
on the wild waters of the troubled Alleghany 
— you have not forgotten that daring launch, 
with the long fireless night on the desolate 
island. You know already how faithfully the 
papers intrusted to his care were guarded 
amid a thousand dangers, and, after more than 



MOimr VEENON. 15 

two months of wintry peril in the wilderness, 
were safely delivered into the hands to which 
they were addressed. 

Behold him once more leaving the quiet 
walls of Mount Vernon, and hastening, with 
early sjDring, at the head of his little troop of 
Virginians, to take post as the advance-guard 
of the provhice, breaking, with toilsome strug- 
gles, a road through the wilds of Western 
Virginia, along the passes of " Savage Moun- 
tain," through those gloomy woods called the 
" Shades of Death." Then came the skirmish 
at the Great Meadows, where the blood shed 
was the first drawn in a long and famous war 
— a war gradually extending from the moun- 
tain-passes of Virginia, and the wooded plains 
of Ohio, to famous fields of the Old World, to 
the banks of the Elbe and the Danube, where 
aU the great powers of Europe w^ere march- 
ing their armies to and fro. You know al- 
ready by heart, my children, the com'se of 
George Washington through that war. You 
have followed in your histories the boastful 
march of General Braddock ; you have noted 
the modest wisdom, the gallant bravery, the 



14 MOUNT VEKNON. 

generous humanity, of the young Virginian 
aid. So often have we read the narrative, 
that we seem almost to have beheld him with 
our own eyes, riding about that fatal field of 
Fort Duquesne, seeking to rally the flying 
troops, exposed to many deaths, horses shot 
under him, bullets passing through his cloth- 
ing, his brother-officers falling one after an- 
other, and he left alone, his tall figure and fine 
horse a mark to the trained aim of the French 
soldier, and to the quick-eyed savage in his 
lair.* We, the women and children of the 
country, seem still to tremble, these hundred 
years later, at the dangers which threatened 



* *' The sachem made known to him that he was one 
of the warriors in the service of the French, who lay in 
ambush on the banks of the Monongahela, and wrought 
such havoc in Braddock's army. He declared that he 
and his young men had singled out Washington, as he 
made himself conspicuous, riding about the field of batv 
tie with the general's orders, and had fired at him re- 
peatedly without success ; whence they had concluded 
that he was under the protection of the Great Spirit, had 
a charmed life, and could not be slain in battle." — Ir^ 
ving^s Washinf/to7i, vol. i., p. 836. 



MOUNT VERNON. 15 

that noble head. And you have read of the 
after-trials of the same war, darker perhaps to 
his ardent spirit than in the eager years of 
youth, than the fatal day at Fort Duquesne — 
trials of endurance under neglect, abuse and 
opposition — trials which, by the will of Provi- 
dence, were moulding his character for diffi- 
culties still more severe, through which, at a 
later period, he was nobly to steer his own 
course and that of his country. 

And then, when Fort Duquesne had at 
length fallen, when Canada had been con- 
qaered, and his native province was fi-eed from 
peril, there came a period of honorable re- 
pose. Colonel Washington married. Mount 
Vernon became a happy house. My children, 
it is those we love — father and mother, hus- 
band and wife, brother and sister, son and 
daughter — it is these near and dear ones, 
sharing our joys and sorrows, with us at our 
daily meal, our daily prayer, these whose love 
goes with us along the whole path of life, and 
still watches over the grave — it is these best, 
most worthy, most enduring affections of our 
nature, which give, as it were, heart and soul 



16 MOUNT VISENON. 

to the Christian home. George Washington 
was a man whose affections were true, pure, 
strong. The home of his boyhood now became 
dearer to him than ever, for the sake of the 
wife and children who shared its blessings with 
him. 

There are men, my young friends, capable 
of great and honorable exertion when aroused 
by some urgent need, acting bravely and zeal- 
ously in hours of danger, but sinking into 
weakness and selfish indulgence in hours of 
repose. Those were peaceful days to Colonel 
Washington. But the hours were not idled 
away. He well knew the great value of time 
worthily spent. The plantation of Mount 
Vernon was large, stretching for miles along 
the bank of the Potomac. It contained dif- 
ferent farms, watered by brooks and rivulets, 
with much woodland also. The woods were 
left wholly wild, with large droves of swine 
feeding on the fallen acorns and beech-nuts. 
The farms were thoroughly worked. George 
Washington was a wise, industrious, thrifty 
farmer ; he was not a man to be content with 
meagre returns from the soil ; he spared no 



MOUNT VEENON. 17 

pains to bring the very best crops from his 
fields. Once in a while a ship would sail np 
the Potomac, anchor in the river, and receive 
the choice produce of the plantation. The to- 
bacco, good as that once smoked by Raleigh 
in the presence of Queen Bess, was sent to 
London. The return voyages brought him 
many necessaries of life, and many little mat- 
ters which to-day you and I might find at the 
nearest counter in our own neighborhood. 
Colonel Washington wrote to London for 
pins, for Mrs. Washington's toilet, and for a 
doll, a doll for the little daughter of the house ; 
" a fashionably drfesed baby " it was to be ! 
The flour from the fields of Mount Vernon 
Avas sent in other ships to the West Lidia Isl- 
ands, and there, my children, the name of 
George Washington became known in the 
markets, not as that of a gallant soldier, not 
as that of a wise statesman, but as the name 
of an upright man, an honest farmer, faultless 
in good faith. The barrels marked with that 
name were not opened for examination ; the 
dealers were confident that the quality of the 
2 



18 MOUNT VERNOK. 

flour within was precisely such as it was rep- 
resented to be ; it needed no inspection. 

It was during those quiet, years, my chil- 
dren, that a little church arose in the neigh- 
borhood of Mount Vernon, the church at 
Pohick, planned, and in a good measure built, 
by Colonel Washington. Every Sunday, as 
a rule, the gates of Mount Vernon opened to 
Colonel Washington and his family, on then- 
way to the house of God. He was not one 
of those who, calhng themselves Christians, 
yet neglect the public worship of the Lord 
God of heaven and earth. 

It would not be easy,* dear children, to 
imagine a more happy, a more honorably 
peaceful way of life, than that led at Mount 
Vernon during those quiet years ; the active 
usefulness, the manly exercises without — the 
generous hospitalities, the neighborly chari- 
ties, the happy family circle within — these 
gave Colonel Washington what his heart 
most enjoyed. But, my children, all these 
pleasures were now to be dehberately sac- 
rificed ; they were all to be nobly given 
up. Much as he loved that happy home, his 



MOUNT VEENON. 19 

love of country was still stronger. His sense 
of honor, of duty, his reverence for truth and 
justice, were much too great to allow him to 
sit idle by the hearthstone of Mount Vernon, 
when the highest mterests of his country were 
at stake. 

You know already that the war of the 
Revolution, which separated America from 
England, was brought on by the injustice of 
the English government. As we sow, so 
shall we reap, whether nations or individuals. 
Injustice, whether public or private, is doom- 
ed in the end, under one form or another, to 
work out its own punishment. The English 
government insisted on exercising in the col- 
onies powers to which they had no just right. 
The people of the colonies remonstrated; 
they sought redress by peaceable means. 
They long clung to the mother country hope- 
ful of justice and reconciliation ; but, when all 
peaceful measures had failed — when troops 
were sent among them to compel obedience 
to laws plainly unconstitutional and tyi*anni- 
cal— then, at length, they were themselves 



20 MOUNT VERNON. 

driven to take up arms in defence of their 
cherished rights. 

The memorable war began between thir- 
teen feeble colonies and their mother country, 
one of the richest and most powerful nations 
then on the earth. SmaU would have been 
the hope of these colonies if they had de- 
pended on the numbers of their troops, on 
the strength of their fortresses, on the size of 
their fleets. Regular armies they had none. 
Their fortresses were few and small, and 
chiefly in the hands of the enemy. With a 
sea-board coast stretching a thousand miles 
along the Atlantic, they had not one regu- 
larly armed vessel to represent a navy — to 
defend their hundred ports. But, my young 
friends, the hearts of the people were brave. 
For leaders they had wise and upright men. 
And the moral strength of their cause was to 
them like an impregnable citadel. 

You already know who became the great 
leader of the American people in the struggle 
which then began. There was no man on the 
contiaent who felt a more generous indigna- 
tion at the wrongs inflicted on his country- 



MOUNT VERNON. 21 

>^eii, than George Washington, then in his 
2)eaceful home at Mount Vernon. With a 
devotion purely unselfish, he stood ready to 
give up life, and ease, and property, to the 
service of his country in her hour of utmost 
need. An American army was already gath- 
erinix on the heisfhts of Boston. An Ameri- 
can Congress met at Philadelphia. Ere many 
days had passed, George Washington was 
unanimously appointed, by the Congress of 
the Colonies, Commander-in-Chief of their 
troops. His skill as an officer, his position, 
his talents, his superior character, were de- 
clared such as " would unite the cordial exer- 
tions of all the colonies better than any other 
person in the Union." Mark that word 
Union, my young friends, now first used on a 
most solemn public occasion — a word carry- 
ing with it a principle of wise statesmanship, 
of generous sympathies, of prudent concilia 
tion — a principle which has been, more than 
any other, the life and soul of our common 
country, which has, under Providence, made 
of a dozen scattered provinces one great and 
powerful nation, which has bound up in one 



22 MOUNT VERNON. 

common weal the hearts of millions of men, 
making brothers and comrades of those who, 
without it, must one day have become bitter 
rivals and deadly foes. And how happily was 
the word now uttered in this its very earliest 
use, connected with the name of George 
Washington — coimected with the name of 
the man who throughout his whole course 
proved how deeply he felt the full force of its 
meaning — who labored so faithfully to uphold 
the just and wise and generous principles it 
involves. 

The choice of Congress was unanimous. 
The gravely weighty charge was accepted 
with that unfeigned modesty, that noble 
humility, which entered so thoroughly into this 
great man's nature. "There is something 
charming to me in the conduct of "Washing- 
ton, a gentleman of one of the first fortunes 
on the continent, leaving his delicious retire- 
ment, his family and friends, sacrificing his 
ease, and hazarding all in the cause of liia 
country. His motives are noble, and disin- 
terested." Such were the words of John 
Adams. 



MOUNT VEENON. 23 

Then followed the daiing siege of Boston. 
It was a siege begun with the utmost boldness, 
and carried on with a resolution, an unyield- 
ing fortitude under difficulties, still more re- 
markable. On the 3d of July, 1775, General 
Washington took formal command of the 
army — an army most uncouth to the eye of a 
soldier — a besieging army of husbandmen, 
without tents, without stores, ragged and 
half-clad, scarcely halfarmed, and with little 
ammunition. But beneath that scanty cloth- 
ing beat the hearts of brave men ; the spirit 
of injured freemen lighted up those sharp 
features. The character of an army has ever 
been of far more importance than its weapons. 
Those rude countrymen had already compelled 
the brilliant English troops at Lexington to 
retreat. They had all but won the field of 
Bunker Hill from the experienced English 
general, commanding at Boston. During the 
first months they kept their ground bravely, 
in spite of every obstacle. But these undiscip- 
lined yeomen, brave as men could be in the 
field, at length became v/eary of the camp. 
As the siege was prolonged their patience 



24 MOin!JT VERNON. 

failed. Discontent, murmuring were there, as 
the time of enlistment drew to a close ; many 
left the camp, and turned their faces home- 
ward. It needed a wiser courage than theirs, 
spirits more enduring, to complete the work 
so bravely begun. At one moment it seemed 
as if General Washington with his officers 
might be left alone on those heights — like 
fabled champions of old — beleaguering the 
British army in Boston ! The American 
forces were melting away — varying with 
every waning moon — ebbing and flowing like 
the tide-s in the harbor below, but with far 
more of caprice and uncertainty in their move- 
ment, than that of the waves of the sea. But, 
in the midst of dangers, and trials, and diffi- 
culties far beyond what your young minds can 
now comprehend, the fortitude of General 
Washington remained unwavering. He pru- 
dently concealed his weakness. He patiently 
labored to enlist a new army — he planned — 
he wrote — he watched with unwearied fideli- 
ty. Men, cannon, powder, clothing, were 
sought far and near. In the very face of the 
enemy, the army was built up anew. No ad- 



MOITNT VERNON. 25 

vantage was lost. The American intrench- 
ments were pushed nearer and nearer to the 
'besieged town. At length the hour came — the 
city could no longer be held by the enemy ; 
with the dawn of day, March the 3d, 1776, 
the bay of Boston was crowded with English 
shipping, getting under way; the British 
army hurried on board, and the fleet sailed 
out to sea. The victory was won. Boston 
was free. By noon General Putnam — that 
brave old man — had marched into the city ; 
the yoimg flag of the country was seen float- 
ing freshly over the town, in the bleak March 
breezes. 

New York was threatened. General 
Washington hastened there. An attack 
was expected. It came ere long. A great 
fleet of one hundred and thirty sail appeared 
at the mouth of the Hudson, and was soon at 
anchor in the bay. An army of 30,000 men 
was on board. Their white tents arose on 
Staten Island — and, ere long, a large British 
force landed on Long Island. A battle was 
fought. The Americans oj^posed the enemy 
with great gallantry ; but they had failed to 



26 MOUNT VEKNOK. 

guard one important point — they were sur- 
rounded, and thrown into confusion. General 
Washington was in New York, preparing for 
an attack on the city ; he hurried over the 
river, but only in time to see his defeated 
troops driven from their ground, and retreat- 
ing toward Brooklyn. Haj)pily for them, 
night was at hand. The fighting ceased. 
The Americans had lost two thousand men — 
the English commander believed a complete 
^dctory to be in his power — he felt sure of 
forcing the whole American army, now lying 
weary and defeated within sight and sound 
of his own troops, to surrender as prisoners 
of war. He lay dreaming in his tent. "With 
early dawn he was aroused by strange tidings. 
The American army, to the very last man, 
had vanished — their camp, close at hand, was 
empty ! It seemed mcredible. Silently and 
swiftly, in the dead of night, shrouded in a 
heavy fog, the army had been withdrawn by 
General "Washington, embarked in boats hasti- 
ly brought together, and safely ferried across 
the river to New York. A more sudden and 



MOUNT VERNON. 27 

and skilful retreat is scarcely to be found in 
the records of history. 

But, my children, that celebrated move- 
ment, after the defeat on Long Island, was 
only the first step in a long course of deliberate 
retreat, now rendered necessary by the weak- 
ness of the American army, and the increas- 
ing strength of the British forces. I^ew York 
could no longer be held. It was necessary to 
abandon the city. Slowly and painfully, amid 
many trials and vexations. General Washing- 
ton withdrew his army to the northward. 
Wherever it was possible, there he paused ; and 
his troops, skilful as ever with the spade, 
threw up intrenchments with surprising quick- 
ness of hand and eye. In October, amid the 
colored autumnal groves of Westchester, was 
fought the battle of White Plains, where the 
Americans yielded the ground, but without 
being defeated. Rapidly, during the dark 
hours of a frosty night, while the camp-fires of 
both armies lighted up the shadowy hill sides, 
our countrymen raised new redoubts, built up 
of maize stalks, and their shaggy roots matted 
with earth. By skilful work, and rapid move- 



28 MOUNT TEKNO^, 

ments, General "Washington succeeded in 
securing a position too strong for attack. 
The English general lay idle awhile in his 
camp, and then marched away, moving west- 
ward. Fort Washington on the Hudson was, 
his object. This fortress protected the north- 
ern country against the English forces in New 
York, It was a post of great importance, 
but had not the strength to repulse alone an 
enemy of the force of General Howe. Gene- 
ral Washington had wished to withdraw the 
troops. There was delay, and some indecision, 
A strong Enghsh army appeared, with a sum- 
mons to surrender. They were very gallantly 
opposed. General Washington, then in New 
Jersey, became painfully anxious ; on learning 
that the fort was besieged, he mounted his 
horse, rode rapidly to Fort Lee, on the Jersey 
shore, and threw himself into a boat, to cross 
the river; but he met General Greene returning 
with hopeful reports from the garrison. Sta- 
tioning himself on the heights of the palisades, 
immediately opposite, the Commander-in-Chief 
now watched with the utmost anxiety the fate 
of his brave troops. But they had undertake 



MOUNT VEENON. 29 

en a task beyond their strength ; ere long the 
Commander-in-Chief had the bitter mortifica- 
tion of seeing the gallant defenders of the fort 
compelled to sm-render. The American flag 
was lowered — nearly one-third of the army 
were taken prisoners, besides stores and am- 
munition of the greatest importance. Two 
thousand eight himdred men of the American 
troops were disarmed, and marched off at 
midnight to 'New York, prisoners of war. 
Sad was the fate of many of these, at a later 
day, in the wretched prisons where they were 
confined by the enemy, like evil-doers. 

General Washington's army was now but 
little more than two thousand men, chiefly en- 
camped at Hackensack, in New Jersey. An 
English force, six thousand strong, suddenly 
crossed the river, to surprise them. General 
Washington was on the alert. Rapidly as 
possible he was compelled to retreat to save 
the small remnant of the American army; 
tents, baggage, stores, provisions, cannons, 
— all were abandoned. At their utmost speed 
the troops move toward the bridge over the 
3 



30 MOUNT VERNON. 

Hackensack — they reach it — cross the river, 
and are safe for the day. 

And then followed months of painful Avan- 
derings on the part of the enfeebled American 
army — as usual suffermg for want of clothing, 
arms, and food, — "ragged tatterdemalions," 
as the British officers contemptuously called 
them. Steadily and wisely General Washing- 
ton led the forced retreat — now retiring at a 
slow, deliberate pace, now pausing; then 
again moving with the utmost rapidity, press- 
ed by more urgent need — ever watchful, ever 
on the alert to seize the first opening for 
favorable action. He was compelled to cross 
the Passaic. The enemy pursued him closely. 
He reached Trenton, and crossed the broad 
Delaware. In hot pursuit the English army 
followed to the banks of the stream. They 
sought to cross. Boats could not be found 
— ^these had all been removed by General 
Washington's orders. They hovered awhile 
on the shore, then scattered themselves over 
the adjoining country. That small American 
army was once more safe, for the moment. 
Time and again, my children, during the 



MOUNT VEENON. 31 

course of that memorable war, were tne slen- 
der American forces struggling for the freedom 
of the country, befriended, as it were, by 
the noble rivers of the land. The ample 
waters, flowing broad and deep, formed natu- 
ral barriers against the invader. 

But most gloomy were the prosjoects of the 
American army, now gathered on the western 
bank of the. Delaware. The future lay dark, 
and seemingly hopeless, before them. Stout 
hearts began to fail. There was secret murmur- 
ing — ^there was underhand plotting — curses 
were at work — slander was heard. The char- 
acter of General Washington was assailed. 
There were many now very ready to blame 
the Commander-in-Chief— Avas he always to re- 
treat ? Suddenly news flew over the country 
of a very brilliant action — an action wholly un- 
expected. Boldly recrossing the Delaware, 
on a cold and stormy winter's night — Christ- 
mas-Eve of 1776 — at the head of his half-clad 
troops, General Washiagton had surprised,- 
defeated, and taken prisoners a large body 
of the enemy's Hessian troops, at Trenton. 
Then, moving gallantly onward, he had fol- 



32 MOUNT "VEENON. 

lowed lip his first success, in spite of urgent 
needs of men and money — and turning upon 
the enemy, defeated him at Princeton, drove 
him, in his turn, step by step, over the sandy 
roads of Kew Jersey, in full retreat. He 
closed the campaign by securing a favorable 
encampment for the winter among the heights 
of Morristown. 

But, my young friends, we are wandering 
too far. Time would fail us, were we to lin- 
ger at every striking event of that memorable 
war, m which General "Washington stands 
prominent in the foreground. You may find 
the record of these events already printed on 
many a page ; they are already written, it is 
to be hoj)ed, on your o^vn young hearts, be- 
yond the power of forgetfulness. A rapid 
glance is all we may novf allow ourselves. 
The gloomy months of the year 11 7Q reliev- 
ed by the daring victory at Trenton; the 
march through Philadelphia the following 
season, the ragged trooj^s wearing sprigs of 
evergreen in their hats as the best attempt 
at uniform their scanty clothing would allow ; 
the defeat on the Brandywine, where the 



MOITNT VERNON. 33 

gallant and loyal Lafayette first fought by 
the side of Washington ; the loss of Philadel- 
phia ; the daring attack at Germantown ; a 
victory won — then vanishing as it were in the 
fog and smoke of the field : of all these you 
have read. Then we come to the wretched 
winter at Valley Forge — the frosty roads 
marked with the blood of the bare-footed 
soldiers; the narrow huts of logs, without 
food, without clothing, without blankets to 
keep the life-blood of the men from freezing 
in their veins ; nay, without straw for the sick 
to die on ! And darker still, let us not forget 
the cunning plotting, the undeserved blame, 
the cowardly abuse, which m those months 
of gloom were aimed at the noble head of 
"Washington. My children, the generous spirit 
is best known in the hour of trial. Undaunted, 
true to himself and to duty, devoted mth all 
his powers to the good of his country, the 
character of General Washington never ap- 
peared more truly great than during those 
darkest months of his life — ^the winter at Val- 
ley Forge. 

Then comes the French alliance — the 



34 MOUNT VEENON. 

English leaving Philadelphia, General Wash- 
ington again in pursuit of their retreating 
army through the Jerseys; the battle of 
Monmouth, so nearly lost, so bravely won; 
the return of Sir Henry Chnton to New 
York; the hopes, the anxieties, the disap- 
pointments of General AVashmgton regarding 
the French fleet, and the winter encampment 
at Middlebrook. 

The winter of 1779 was marked as usual 
with grave cares and severe trials to the 
Commander-in-Chief. Little sympathy had 
his generous nature with the petty jealousies, 
the narrow selfishness, which now began to 
show themselves but too plainly among the 
inferior political men of the day. The best 
men of the country, the men uniting ability 
with high moral character, were no longer in 
Congress. Well did he, the noblest among 
them all, feel the great truth, that when such 
men — ^the upright, the loyal, the unselfish — are 
content to leave the public work of the coun- 
try in unworthy hands, more or less of public 
risk and public disgrace is inevitable. 

With the next year, 1780, we have Gen- 



MOUNT VERNON. 35 

eral Washington on the Hudson, with his 
troops. And that most daring attack on 
Stony Point follows — a work so boldly plan- 
ned by the Commander-in-Chief, thoroughly 
prepared, and most gallantly achieved by 
General Wayne, "Mark Antony" of the 
army — a strong fort, garrisoned by six hun- 
dred men, surprised and stormed at midnight 
by two hundred men ! It was indeed a very 
gallant exploit — one of the most brilliant feats 
on record in the annals of war. 

The winter of 1780, so terribly cold, is 
again marked by the sufferings of the Ameri- 
can army, in their winter quarters at Morris- 
town. As before, these brave men were left 
by the careless public officers without clothing, 
without bread, without meat, without money, 
in their narrow huts. Perchance they might 
have starved but for the kindly sympathy of 
the people of 'New Jersey, who brought them 
supplies out of good-will. How many leaves 
of the history of the Revolution are marked 
with the bitter necessities of the army — with 
the wearing trials and anxieties of their chief, 
for the lack of that aid from the government 



36 MOUNT VEENON. 

without whicli we should have supposed they 
must have been almost utterly powerless! 
There were times when the difficulties ap- 
peared all but overwhelming. There was a 
childish littleness of calculation, a narrowness 
of views in the proceedings of Congress con- 
nected with the army, quite disgraceful ; and 
when it is considered that the fate of the 
nation was at stake, such a course becomes 
culpable in the extreme. To a man of the 
singular discretion, forethought, and soundness 
of judgment of the Commander-in-Chief, such 
mismanagement must have been especially try- 
ing. Private affairs managed in the same way, 
must have brought utter ruin on any man. 
Happily the resources of nations are greater. 
When endangered by mismanagement they 
are often enabled to rally from what appears 
the brink of ruin. With republics this is espe- 
cially the case. The broad principles of general 
justice which make up their constitution, carry 
life farther and deeper into their system than 
into that of other nations ; they can bear with 
safety greater shocks, so long at least as the 
moral principles by which they exist are pre- 



MOUNT ViaiNOIT. 37 

served with any degree of fidelity. They 
often appear strangely weak, while yet they 
have at the heart life-giving fountains of 
strength which enable them to rally and to 
act in time of need, with a vigor perhaps 
wholly unlooked for, and far beyond that of 
their adversary — startling the world by their 
proofs of power. Thus it was in the war of 
the Revolution. The great moral principles 
of simple justice, for which the people and 
their leaders were honestly contending, 
buoyed them up amid innumerable stormy 
perils. 

Spring found General Washington at West 
Point, anxious, as he had been for a long time, 
to attack ISTew York ; but he was not strong 
enough to undertake a step so important, un- 
supported by the allied forces of France. A 
French fleet was hourly expected at Newport. 
Meanwhile Sh' Henry Clinton had sailed south- 
w^ard, reduced Charleston, after a very gal- 
lant defence of that city by General Lincoln 
and his troops, and had again returned north- 
ward, leaving Lord CornwalUs in Carolina. 
There was now a seeming quiet in the English 



38 MOUNT VEENON. 

camp. Sir Henry Clinton appeared idle. Ah, 
little did General Washington know the dan- 
ger which threatened him from that quarter ; 
little was he aware of the work now plotting 
under the eye of Sir Henry Clinton ! Letters 
were passing up and down the Hudson, of 
which he knew nothing — letters from his own 
camp at West Point to the British head-quar- 
ters ; one day borne stealthily in boats gliding 
under the shores — at another carried by land 
along the highways, passing from one treach- 
erous hand to another. A traitor stood by 
the side of the Commander-in-Chief, breakmg 
bread with him at the same board, sharing 
his secret counsels — a traitor far more guilty 
than the wild savage who had once fired upon 
him in the wilderness of Ohio. The French 
fleet arrived. Unsuspicious of evil. General 
Washington, anxious to prepare for the intend- 
ed attack on New York, left West Point for 
Hartford, to meet the commander of the allied 
forces just arrived. At the very hour when 
the Commander-in-Chief of the American army 
was sitting at the council-board in Hartford, 
in consultation with the Count de Rocham« 



MOUNT VEENON. 39 

bean, treacnery was busily at work on the 
banks of the Hudson. The traitorous plan 
was completed. All was ready. At midnight, 
of a beautiful starlight night, the 21st of Sep- 
tember, an English officer landed from a boat 
at a solitary spot in Haverstraw Bay. It was 
at the foot of Long Clove Mountain, jjv^hich 
threw its starlight shadows over the wild spot. 
There, concealed in a thicket, shrinking from 
the dim face of night, as it were, like the 
guilty creature he was, stood an American 
general, come there with the vile purpose of 
selling on that spot, and at that hour, his 
comrades, his chief, his country, and his honor, 
for a few paltry pounds of gold. Wretched 
man that he was — you know his name already, 
my young friends, but too well. The guilty 
tale has been often told to you. Let us have 
done with it. But, as we pass up and down 
that grand river to-day, with a speed scarcely 
leaving time for thought, let us still send up 
to Heaven an aspiration of thankfulness for 
the protection vouchsafed in that evil hour to 
our country, her army, and her great leader. 
The plot was discovered. Benedict Ar- 



40 MOUNT VERNON. 

nold escaped, safe in body, blasted in name 
forever. The luckless young Englisb officer, 
Andre, was executed, sternly, but justly, in 
accordance with well-established military law. 
General Washington's mind was scarcely 
relieved from this critical danger, ere his at- 
tention was again engrossed by the state of 
the army. Difficulties, as of old, want of men, 
and of means, beset his path. ISTot a month, 
not a week, scarcely a day, of those long years 
was free from trials of this nature. Time and 
again, well-formed plans of the Commander-in- 
Chief and his generals were abandoned, for the 
.ack of that aid they had every just reason to 
demand. Many a victory, many a gallant ex- 
ploit, my young friends, might have been 
added to the history of the devolution, as it 
now stands on record, had the men and means 
pledged to the Commander-in-Chief been faith- 
fully provided. But, as we look backward to- 
day, knowing that the great national battle 
was happily won at last, far higher than 
the renown of victory may we prize those 
grand lessons of wisdom, of prudence, of forti- 
tude, of unwavering devotion to duty, of faith 



MOUNT VEKKON. 41 

in the power of truth and justice, as they are 
taught by the example of George Washing- 
ton, in those hours of severe trial. The attack 
on 'New York was still the project wMch the 
Commander-in-Chief had most at heart, believ- 
ing that one successful blow struck here by 
the united armies of America and France, 
must insure an early peace. But, as usual, 
there was delay. The armies were not yet 
ready for action. 

Meanwhile the brave States at the south- 
ward — ^the Carolinas and Virginia, had become 
the field of war. It was on that ground the 
great battle of the nation was now fought. 
The American troops in that quarter, like 
their brethren at the North, were often want- 
ing in almost every essential of war but gal-- 
lant hearts and brave leaders. The names of 
Lincoln, Greene, Sumter, Marion, Washing- 
ton, Morgan, and others, their comrades — 
how many daring exploits, under cloud or 
sunshine, do they recall to us ! How often 
have we read the story of those bold attacks, 
skilful retreats — the risino- of the rivers one 

o 

after another — the Catawba, the Yadkin, tha 
4 



42 MOUNT VEENON. 

Dan ; one army pursuing the other in quick 
succession, with rapid changes, until suddenly 
and unexpectedly General Greene moves 
southward, and Lord Cornwallis, after a brief 
and anxious lielay, fearing the loss of all he 
had hitherto won in Carolina, changes his di- 
rection also. And the two armies, which but 
a few days earlier were closely pursuing each 
other, one or the other in advance, according 
to the chances of war, were now seen flying 
far asunder, towards opposite points, each 
commander with an object of his own. Lord 
Cornwallis was eager to reach Virginia, to 
unite his own diminished forces with the 
British army already there. Little did he 
dream of the circumstances under which, ere 
many months had passed, he should again pass 
the bounds of that State ! 

For some time Arnold — the guilty Ar- 
nold — ^had been in command of the enemy's 
forces in Virginia, ravaging the country with 
a hear tie ssness that proved plainly that with his 
allegiance he had also forgotten the spirit of 
humanity which has marked American war- 
fare. The watchful eye of the Commander-in- 



MOUNT VEENON. 43 

Chief, from his camp on the Hudson, took in 
the whole field of war. The movements of 
armies, to the utmost extent of the country, 
were often planned by him. He may have 
felt something of additional sympathy, as he 
saw now his native province laid waste by the 
enemy. A proof of the strength of his love 
of country, of his high sense of honor, is now 
given to the vv'orld, though at the moment 
known only to the man to whom his rebuke 
was addressed. Mount Vernon was threat- 
ened with fire by the enemy. Other country 
houses had been recently burned by the Brit- 
ish troops, in Vii'ginia. The agent, to save 
the house and the plantation from ruin, sent 
provisions to the enemy, and went himself on 
board their ship. The indignation of Gen. 
Washington, on learning this fact, was great 
indeed — he could not endure the thought that 
a person, representing him during his absence, 
should have taken a step so unworthy. Much 
as he loved Moimt Yernon, greatly as he 
longed to return there, he could not endure 
the idea that safety should have been pur- 
chased by an unworthy act : " It would have 



44 MOUNT VEENON. 

been a less painful circumstance to me, to 
have heard that in consequence of your non- 
comphance with their request they had 
burned my house, and laid my plantation in 
ruins." Such was his private rebuke to his 
agent : strong language, but, Hke all lan- 
guage used by George Washington, the hon- 
est expression of his heart. He had long 
since deliberately declared himself ready to 
sacrifice life and property to the service of 
his country ; he now stood ready at any hour 
to carry out that pledge to the utmost — to 
preserve, at every cost, pure integrity of word 
and deed. 

General Washington was now encamped 
on the Hudson, among the Greenburg hills, 
about Dobb's Ferry, anxiously awaiting the 
arrival of additional troops before moving 
upon New York. The attack on that city 
was fully prepared. The French army under 
General de Rochambeau was lying among the 
Greenburg hills, in close neighborhood, and in 
good fellowship with the American troops. 
The generals had gone over the ground ; 
their plans were complete. They were only 



MOU^n: VERNON. 45 

awaiting tlie reinforcements elcpected by the 
American army. But the fresh troops came 
in very slowly, and in small numlbers. Gene- 
ral Washington was pained and mortified by 
these delays, at a moment of the highest im- 
portance. At length, however, towards the 
middle of August, preparations were more 
actively carried on. A large encampment was 
marked out in the Jerseys — to surround New 
York by aU its approaches seemed the object ; 
ovens were built, fuel was provided for baking 
the bread needed by a large force ; pioneers 
were sent forward to break the roads leading 
towards IsTew York, and prepare them for the 
passage of troops and artillery. At length, on 
the 19th of August, the army was paraded, 
with their faces towards !N"ew York. The 
order to march was given — but, to the amaze- 
ment of the troops themselves, they were 
turned in the opposite direction from the Brit- 
ish posts. They had expected to attack. They 
moved to the northward some miles, then 
crossed the Hudson. The French forces fol- 
lowed in the same direction. The camp al- 
ready prepared in the Jerseys was supposed 
4* 



46 MOUNT VEENON. 

to be their goal." But such were not the views 
of their leaders. They marched through the 
Jerseys without pausing, leaving IN'ew York 
in their rear. Now, at length, it became evi- 
dent that Yirgiuia was their object. Stirring 
events were taking place on that ground. 
Generals Lafayette and Wayne, by a series 
of skilful movements, had not only escaped 
from the pursuit of Lord Cornwallis, but, car- 
rying out the suggestions of General Wash- 
ington, had succeeded in throwing a mihtary 
net -work about the British army, confining it 
within narrow bounds by a skilful distribu- 
tion of the American forces. At the same 
moment, the expected French fleet was found 
to have changed its destination from New 
York to the Chesapeake — a fact which ren- 
dered it necessary to postpone the attempt on 
New York, while, on the other hand, it ren- 
dered the hope of capturing the British army 
in Virginia almost certain. This intelligence 
had caused the sudden movement of General 
Washington and Count de Kochambeau to 
the southward. Sir Henry Clinton was amazed 
when he learned the alUed armies had already 



MOUNT VEKNON. 4*7 

reached the Delaware. They marched through 
Philadelphia ; they passed over much the same 
ground as in 1777, but under very different 
circumstances. Lord Cornwallis, finding it 
impossible to withdraw his army, prepared to 
defend himself at Yorktown, strengthening 
the place to the utmost of his power. 

On the 28th of September the allied Amer- 
ican and French armies, twelve thousand 
strong, began their work as besiegers. The 
Commander-in-Chief, the Coimt de Rocham- 
beau, Generals Lafayette, Wayne, Steuben, 
Lincoln, and many other distinguished soldiers 
of both armies, were on the ground. Gov- 
ernor IN'elson, of Virginia, brought the militia 
of that State into the field, raising the funds 
for their expenses by pledging his own private 
property for the purpose. The besieging 
works were commenced, stretching before 
Yorktown in a semicircle nearly two miles in 
length. General Washington closely superin- 
tended the labors of the troops. He was fre- 
quently exposed to great danger ; but, as 
usual, wholly forgetful of personal risks. His 



48 MOUNT YEENON. 

generals, at times, remonstrated with him upon 
his want of caution. 

The English army, now closely shut in 
on all sides, soon became distressed. They 
were compelled to kill their horses for want 
of forage. Parties were sent out to j)rocure 
provisions ; skirmishes took place. In one of 
these Col. Tarleton, with his famous legion, 
mounted on race-horses, had a sharp melee 
with M. de Lauzun, and his brilliant French 
hussars. On the 6th of October, in the depths 
of a dark night. Gen. Lincoln, with a body of 
French and American troops, opened a par- 
allel — as it is called in the language of sieges 
— within six hundred yards of the enemy. It 
was nearly two miles in length. So silently, 
and so skilfully, was the work carried on, that 
the enemy was wholly unaware it was going 
on, until the morning light appeared. This 
work was soon completed. A terrible can- 
nonade followed ; General Washington firing 
the first gun. Gov. ISTelson was consulted as 
to the point toward which the cannonade 
should be directed, to do most effective work. 
A large house was quietly pointed out by him, 



MOUNT VEENON. 49 

as the enemy's head-quarters. It was his own. 

Of course it was destroyed. All the usual 
glaring terrors of a regular siege followed. 
On the 11th, a second line, within three hun- 
dred yards of the enemy, was opened by 
General Steuben. Two British redoubts seri- 
ously retarded the work. They were most 
gallantly stormed in the same night — ^the 14th 
— one by a party of Americans under General 
Lafayette, the other by a French force under 
M. de Viomeiul. The Americans, headed by 
Colonel Hamilton, rushed upon the redoubt 
without firing, without awaiting the usual 
military approaches — the fatal work was done 
at the point of the bayonet. The French, 
having a stronger garrison to oppose them, 
advanced more regularly, but with equal gal- 
lantry. Both parties were entirely successful. 
The loss of these redoubts threw Lord Corn- 
wallis almost into despair. The British made 
a very spiiited attack on two American bat- 
teries — ^but they were forced to retreat. Lord 
Cornwallis could not endure the idea of sur- 
rendering. He sought to escape — to force an 
opening to the southward. The daring at- 



50 MOUNT VEENON. 

tempt failed. Finding longer defence hope- 
less — at 10 o'clock on the morning of the I'Tth, 
a flag was sent to General Washington with 
proposals of surrender. Two days passed in 
the necessary consultations. On the 19th of 
October, Lord Cornwallis, and the British 
army under his command — some 7,000 in all — 
formally surrendered, with all due niihtar} 
observances, to General Washington, as Com- 
mander-in-Chief of the allied armies. 

The great struggle was nearly over — clos- 
ing, for General Washington, as it had begmi, 
with a siege. But very different was the 
management of the siege of Yorktown, carried 
on with every regular military proceeding, 
from the protracted labors, the dishe-artening 
delays and hinderances of that remarkable 
siege of Boston, in which the Commander-in- 
Chief first made proof of all his personal pow- 
ers, as an American general. 

With the fall of Yorktown the Enghsh 
Government abandoned all hope. Ere long 
rumors of peace were heard. StUl General 
Washington, ever watchful and provident, 
returned to his post on the Hudson, prepared 



MOUNT VEENON. 51 

to continue hostilities should it be necessary. 
The troops were marched to Newburgh. The 
army imder General Washington was not 
again called into the field. And yet his pres- 
ence in the camp was never more necessary. 
Now that the attention of the troops was no 
longer fixed upon the enemy, now that peace 
was at hand, a peace purchased by their gal- 
lantry, they began to turn a sullen eye upon 
the internal affairs of the country. The con- 
duct of Congress, and that of the State gov- 
ernments, with regard to all the interests of 
the troops — officers and men alike — had been 
strangely and culpably negligent. Even now, 
when the freedom of the country had been 
wrought out by their gallantry and fortitude, 
they were still but half fed ! Long arrears of 
pay were due to them. The murmuring and 
discontent increased to an alarming degree. 
The real danger to the nation was, perhaps, 
greater at that moment than at any period 
during the Revolution. — ^A secret proj^osition 
was made to General Washington: Why 
should he not assume the supreme command 
of affairs, and with the aid of the army crown 



52 MOUNT VEENON. 

himself King ! A noble burst of indignation 
was the only reply of the Commander-in-Chief. 
N'ever, perhaps, was there a public man more 
free from the taint of petty personal ambition. 
Still the mutinous disposition of the army 
seemed to be gaining groimd. The great) 
degree of justice in their complaints increased 
the danger a thousand-fold. Disorder, vio- 
lence and anarchy threatened the country — 
and, like their sister republics at the south- 
ward, these States might have become a prey 
to successive military outbreaks, and military 
leaders. But the evil was wholly warded off, 
and the country saved from untold disorder 
and violence — ^the integrity, the wisdom and 
upright character of one man contributing, 
more, perhaps, than any other influence, to 
avert the imminent danger. Sharing, as he 
had done, all the trials and dangers of the 
army, feeling for the officers and the men with 
an interest almost fatherly in its warmth, by 
his calm wisdom, and generous example, he 
was enabled to control the stormy elements. 

"Blessed are the peace-makers, for they 
shall be called the children of God." If such 



MOUNT VEENON. 53 

be the blessiug of the man who in private hfe 
seeks to cherish the lovely spirit of peace, 
how much greater must be the merit of the 
Christian patriot, who, in seasons of discord, 
promotes by word and by deed that unspeak- 
ably great blessing — ^national peace ! A close 
more, worthy of the great military career of 
the Commander-in-Chief could scarcely be 
named. 

And now, on the 19th of April, the eighth 
anniversary of the battle of Lexington, the 
close of the war with England was publicly 
proclaimed to the army. 

It was still some months, however, ere 
General Washington was released from public 
cares. The breaking up of the army; the 
fatherly leave-taking from the soldiers; the 
solemn parting with his officers, marked by 
manly grief; the careful and patient settle- 
ment of business questions with the British 
officials; his frequent communications with 
Congress, with the State authorities ; his sim- 
ply dignified resignation of the supreme com- 
mand at Annapolis — all these different duties 
delayed his homeward journey. 
5 



54 MOUNT VERNON. 

But at length, on Christmas Eve, 1783, 
came the happy hom*. Once more the gates 
of Mount Vernon opened to receive him ; he 
was once more at rest within those .honored 
walls. How simply true, that from early 
youth ■ he seemed never to have left those 
walls, save on some worthy errand — ever, as 
he returned to their shelter, bearing with him^* 
year after year, fresh claims upon the respect, 
the veneration, the gratitude of his country. 

Very happily must the early spring of 
Virginia have opened to the great and good 
man. His mind was given once more to the 
peaceful cares and genial toils of the husband- 
man. Ere long, loving country life as of old, 
we find him keeping a diary of all the little 
events of interest. As the months went 
round, the days, marked so often in past years 
with the gloomy trial, the terrible battle, are 
now given to the peaceful work of the farm 
and the garden. Jan. the 10th — the period 
of the stormy winter campaign in the Jerseys, 
he now quietly notes that the thorn is still in 
full berry. Jan. the 20th — the anniversary of 
the bitter hardships of Valley Forge, the suffer- 



MOUNT VEENON. 65 

ings of his army, the plottings of his secret ene- 
mies in the Conway cabal — we now follow him 
into his pine groves, where he is happily busy 
clearing openings among the midergrowth. 
In February, the moment when, during a 
previous year, the threatening military out- 
break was gathering to a head in the Highland 
camp, he is pleasantly engaged in transplant- 
ing ivy. In March, when the siege of Boston 
was drawing to a close, engrossing every fac- 
ulty, he is setting out evergreens — the spruce 
which throws its dark shadows over many a 
hillside in our country. In April, the month 
of Lexington, he sets out willows and lilacs — 
he sows hoUy-berries for a hedge near the 
garden-gate, and on the lawn. He rides over 
his farms, choosing young trees, elms, ashes, 
maples, mulberries, for transplanting. He 
sows acorns and buck-eye, brought by himself 
from the banks of the Monongahela. He 
twines honeysuckles around the columns of 
his j)iazza — the ever-blooming scarlet honey- 
suckle which the little humming-bird loves so 
well. 

The first months of peace, which follow a 



56 MOUNT VEENON. 

long war, are often perilous to a nation. The 
excitement of conflict is over, and there re- 
mains many a deep wound to he healed. But 
there were especial dangers connected witk 
the first movements of a young nation like our 
own, with a form of government still untried. 
There was naturally much of evil passion, of 
prejudice, of folly, astir. " What, Gracious 
God ! is man, that there should be such incon- 
sistency and perfidiousness in his conduct ? " 
was the heartfelt exclamation of General 
Washington, amid the discord and disorder 
which in 1786 were threatening the very life 
of the nation. You know already, my young 
friends, how by thoughtful prudence, plain 
justice, and a wise conciliation, the evils so 
much dreaded by every good man were 
warded off. A wisely framed Constitution for 
the nation was drawn up, and in 1788 happily 
ratified. " We may, with a kind of pious and 
grateM exultation, trace the finger of Provi- 
dence through these dark and mysterious 
events * * " again writes General Washing- 
ton, " in all human probability laying a lasting 
foundation for tranquillity and happiness, when 



MOUNT VEENON. 57 

we had but too much reason to fear that con- 
fusion and misery were conung rapidly upon 
us." 

A permanent government was now formed. 
It remained to choose a President. The eyes 
of the whole nation were again turned towards 
Mount Vernon. General Washington had not 
one secret wish for the honors of the high dig- 
nity. To General Lafayette he wi'ote that he 
had no desire " beyond that of living and dy- 
ing, an honest man, on my own farm." The 
election took place. From the very heart of 
the nation, George Washington was chosen 
President of the United States. 'Never was 
there a public choice more honorable to a peo- 
ple, or to the individual chosen. With noble 
humility, with virtuous resolution, with manly 
dignity, the weighty charge was accepted. 
Seldom indeed has a position of such high 
honor been assumed from motives so simply 
pure and disinterested. 

On the morning of the 16th of April, 
General Washington again crossed the thresh- 
old of Mount Vernon, again sacrificing the 

peaceful life he loved, to high pubhc duty. 

5* 



58 MOUNT VERNON. 

Childhood may love its home, as the fledging 
bird loves the nest where it is fed ; and fondled 
youth may love its home, as the young bird 
flutters joyously about the tree whence it first 
took wiug. But as the shadows of life lengthen, 
home becomes far more dear. It is iu maturer 
life, when a knowledge of the vanities of the 
world without has forced itself clearly upon 
the mind, that the family hearthstone of a vir- 
tuous house becomes to the wise man the 
dearest spot on earth. It is there that, next 
to Heaven, the heart centres. And when we 
behold a man clothed with years, and well- 
earned honors, the rich iruits of a lifetime of 
virtuous action, deliberately leaving his peace- 
ful roof, to enter once more the toilsome path 
of public life — a path whose severe labors, 
whose weight of care, whose risks, whose 
empty returns, he already knows to the ut- 
most — our hearts are deeply moved at the 
spectacle, with feelings of reverence and grati- 
tude. 

Four long years of weighty care and labor 
passed over. The work of the nation went 
on. Laws were enacted. Treaties were made. 



MOUlSfT VEENON. 59 

An Indian war was carried on. Taxes were 
laid. Opposition awoke. Party spirit became 
active and violent. And amid the turmoil 
and uproar of political life, General Washing- 
ton moved on his course, calm, firm, just, up- 
right as ever. The period for another election 
came round. He was again unanimously 
elected President. The first term of his ser- 
vice had been chiefly occupied with the regu- 
lation of internal affairs. Meanwhile great 
revolutions were breaking out in Europe; 
their natural effects on America were soon 
felt. War was declared between Great Britain 
and France. The government of the United 
States, with General Washington at its head, 
wisely resolved to remain neutral. But party 
feeling ran high — its spirit was never more 
bitter, dividing the nation into rival adherents 
of England or of France; as though we were 
no longer the independent people we had so 
lately proclaimed ourselves to be. But where 
two powerful countries are at war, the posi- 
tion of a neutral people of less power, and in 
any manner connected with them, becomes 
full of diflaculties. The United States suffered 



60 MOUNT VERNON. 

in many ways by tliis state of things. Eng- 
land boldly impressed seamen from American 
ships, arrogantly insisting on a right to do so. 
France, with equal disregard of all national 
laws, openly interfered in the internal affairs 
of the Union. In the midst of these embar- 
rassments, of the gravest character, the Presi- 
dent earnestly sought to preserve national jus- 
tice and national dignity. " I wish to estab- 
lish an American character." This impartial 
and independent course exposed him to much 
of the grossest abuse. Even his personal 
character was assailed — and by his owti coun- 
trymen ! Of so little true value may popular 
favor or popular abuse become. The truly 
great man must know how to rise far superior 
to either in the hour of need. " I -prize as I 
ought the good opinion of my fellow-citizens ; 
yet, if I know myself, I would not seek popu- 
larity at the expense of one social duty or 
moral virtue." Such were his words. Such 
was his course. 

At the close of the second term of his ser- 
vice, he announced to the country his resolu- 
tion to withdraw into private life. It was on 



MOUNT VEENON. 61 

that occasion, as you remember, that he wrote 
the Farewell Address, which, with Laws, and 
Constitutions, and Treaties, has a place in the 
archives of the nation. How much of unde- 
niable truth, of pure wisdom, of sound judg- 
ment — how much of warm love of country, 
assuming in the venerable man a touching 
paternal character, is found in that paper. 
How earnestly he desires we might shun 
every peculiar danger of our position — ^with 
what fatherly foresight he warns us against 
the most threatening evils. Speaking of a free 
government, he plainly declares a very great 
truth : " Respect for its authority, compliance 
with its laws, acquiescence in its measures, 
are duties enjoined by the fimdamental max- 
ims of true liberty. The Constitution which 
at any time exists, until changed by an ex- 
plicit and authentic act of the whole people, 
is sacredly obligatory upon aU. The very 
idea of the*power and the right of the people 
to establish government, pre-supposes the 
duty of every individual to obey the estab- 
lished government." How justly he valued 
true freedom, and how clearly he saw the 



62 MOUNT YERNON. 

fact, that it can never exist on earth without 
the restraint of law and justice, duly observed: 
" It is indeed little else than a name, where 
the government is too feeble to withstand the 
enterprises of faction, to confine each member 
of society within the limits prescribed by the 
laws, and to maintain all in the secure and 
tranquil enjoyment of the rights of person and 
property." How well he describes party 
spirit, as often a small, but artful and en- 
croaching, minority of the community. " It 
exists under different shapes m all govern- 
ments * * but in those of a popular form 
it is seen in its greatest rankness, and is truly 
their worst enemy." How plainly he urges 
the great truth, that there can be no sound, 
no lasting popular government, without a liv- 
ing spirit of virtue and religion in the hearts 
of the community. How carefully he teaches 
the importance of pubHc honesty — the up- 
right discharge of debt. How^ nobly he 
would impress upon the country the observ- 
ance of good faith and justice towards all na- 
tions, " cultivating peace and harmony with 
aU." 



MOUNT VEKNON. 63 

While the nation were still reading this 
noble address, the venerable man was gladly- 
preparing to lay aside his pubUc honors, and 
thankfully turning his face again toward his 
own quiet roof. 

It was a happy moment of the year for the 
aged patriot to enter his o^ti gates. With 
returning spring, his stately person, now vene- 
rable with years, was agaia seen mo"sdng about 
his fields, directing the work of his laborers, 
passing along familiar paths, overshadowed by 
the trees he loved so well. His doors were 
once more thrown wide with the olden hospi- 
tahty, generous in spirit, simple in form. His 
barns and storehouses were again opened to 
relieve the poor, as in previous years, when he 
wrote, during the trials of the siege of Bos- 
ton : " Let the hospitality of the house with 
respect to the poor be kept up. Let no one 
go hungry away. If any of this kind of peo- 
ple should be in want of corn, supply their ne- 
cessities, provided it does not encourage them 
to idleness." He who in early youth, before 
he was yet of age, was the chosen guardian 
of the fatherless little girl, was now the friend 



64 MOUNT VEENON. 

to whom more than one widow, more than one 
orphan flock, looked for aid, and guidance, and 
protection. 

Ere long, public cares followed him again 
to his plantation. The difficulties with France 
were gradually becoming more grave. It be- 
came necessary to prepare for war. So long 
as General Washington lived, the people were 
unwilUng to trust their armies to another 
chief. " In the event of an open rupture with 
France, the public voice wUl again call you to 
command the armies of your country," writes 
General Hamilton. "We must have your 
name," writes the President ; " there wiU be 
more efficiency in it than in many an army." 

With deep regret General Washington 
again saw the toUs of pubHc life spreadiag be- 
fore him. But true to duty as ever, unselfish 
in his noble old age as in ardent youth, he 
declared himself reluctant to leave his retire- 
ment, yet ready to serve his country, if need- 
ed : " The principle by which my conduct has 
been actuated through life would not suffer 
me, in any great emergency, to withhold any 



MOUNT VEENON. 65 

services I could render, when required by my 
country." 

In July, IVGS, the Secretary of War was 
sent by the President to wait on General 
Washington, at Mount Yernon, bearing with 
him the commission of Lieutenant-General, and 
Commander-in-Chief of the armies of the Re- 
public. From that moment, the summer days 
were divided between the necessary prepara- 
tions for the duty before him, and the lighter 
labors of the fields, which he ever loved so 
well. As he rode over the hills, and through 
the woods, on the banks of the Potomac, his 
mind was filled with plans for the war which 
seemed so near. Yet, to his experienced eye, 
that cloud of war appeared more hkely to 
pass away. He never beheved that France 
would actually bring on hostilities. Still, with 
his usual forethought, he would have every 
preparation made — these, ui themselves, being 
often the best means of averting bloodshed. 
It is a suigular fact that he, who in compara- 
tive youth was so cautiously prudent, so de- 
liberate in all his military steps, now, at three- 
score and ten, proposed an entirely different 
6 



66 MOUIsT VERNON. 

course. Tiie French soldier was a different 
man from the British soldier ; a different 
course must be adopted with him. He chose 
for his generals the boldest and most daring 
spirits among the military men of the country, 
to plan a series of rapid movements, continued 
attacks : " The enemy must never be permit- 
ted to gain foothold on our shores." 

Thus passed away the months of summer 
and of autumn. With early winter a solemn 
change was at hand. 

On Friday, the 13th of December, hght 
clouds were gathering over the banks of the 
Potomac, and the plantation of Mount Ver- 
non. A gentle rain fell. It was the v/ill of 
Providence that those clouds should, become 
to George Washington the shadows of death. 
He was abroad, as usual, in the fields, direct- 
ing the farm-work of the plantation. His long 
gray locks, falling about his throat, were wet 
with the rain. Heedless of the fact,- he re- 
turned home, passing the remaining hours of 
the day in his accustomed peaceful manner, at 
che family fire-side. During the night he be- 
came alarmingly ill. A very severe affection 



MOUNT VERNO:jf. 67 

of the throat came on. From the first he 
believed that he should die. The usual reme- 
dies were employed, but without avail. He 
lingered some twenty-four hours, and near 
midnight of Saturday, December 14th, in full 
possession of his faculties, and in the calmness 
of Christian faith, he closed his eyes on this 
world. 

The following week, on Wednesday, the 
18th of December, he was borne to his grave — 
a grave opened at a spot chosen by himself, on 
the grassy hill-side, overshadowed by trees — 
the Potomac flowing below — the home in 
which so many honored days had been passed, 
rising from the brow of the hill above. 

There may he lie in peace, guarded by the 
love of a grateful nation, until the Resurrec- 
tion of the Just ! 

Children of America ! brief and imperfect 
as this rapid sketch of a great life must ap- 
pear to you, it may yet serve in some degree 
to warm anew your young hearts towards 
one of the greatest Christian patriots the 
world has ever seen. In some beautiful coun- 
tries of the earth, my young friends, there 



68 MOUNT VEENON. 

are mountain heights, raising their hoary 
heads heavenward with so much of majesty, 
that even a dim and distant view, even a 
cloudy vision of their greatness, will deeply 
impress the beholder. Thus it is with the 
character of George "Washington. The more 
we examine its just proportions, its beautiful 
points, its great moral power, the more 
deeply shall we become impressed with its 
admirable excellence. But even a brief and 
imperfect view must reveal enough to fill the 
thoughtful mind w?th feehngs of very deep 
reverence. 

Children of America! We come to you 
to-day, affectionately invitmg you to take part 
in a great act of national homage to the 
memory, to the principles, to the character 
of George Washmgton. The solemn guard- 
ianship of the home, and of the grave, of Gen- 
eral Washington is now offered to us, the 
women of the country. . Happy are we, 
women of America, that a duty so noble is 
confided to us. And we, your country- 
women — your mothers, your sisters, your 
friends — would fain have you share with us 



MOUNT VEENON. 69 

this honorable, national service of love. 
From those of you into whose hands Prov- 
idence has thrown com, be it gold, or silver, 
or copper, we would ask a gift for the purse 
we are seeking to fill. More than a gift of 
small amoimt we should not consent to re- 
ceive from either of your number. But with 
far more of earnestness we seek your warm 
and real sympathy. "Whatever you may be 
enabled to give, be it bright dime, or clean 
copper, fresh from the mint, we ask that you 
give it feelmgly — as a simple act of love and 
respect for the memory of the great man. 
It is the spiiit thro^vn into every work 
which can alone give it true value. Let us 
then, my young fi-iends, give to the pious 
task in which we are workuig together, a 
lieart and soul, as it were, in some degree 
<vorthy of the purpose. Let this work be- 
come, on our j)art, a public act of veneration 
for virtue — of respect for love of country in 
its highest form, pure, true, and conscien- 
tious — of loyalty to the Union, the vital 
principle of our national existence. Let it 
become, for each of us, a public pledge of re- 
6* 



10 MOUNT VERNON. 

spect for the Christian home, with all its 
happy blessings, its sacred restraints — of rev- 
erence for the Christian grave, the solemn 
mysteries, the glorious hopes, shrouded with- 
in it. Let it become a pledge of our undying 
gratitude to him who Ues sleeping so calmly 
yonder, on the banks of the Potomac. Let 
it become a pledge of our thankfulness to 
heaven, for having granted to the country a 
man so truly great. And, my young friends, 
let this act become to ourselves a pledge that 
we shall endeavor — each in the natural sphere 
allotted to us by an All-wise Providence — ^to 
make a worthy use of the life and faculties 
granted to us by God ; a pledge that we shall 
seek, in truth and sincerity, to follow all just 
and generous principles — striving to serve 
our God, our country, our fellow-men, with 
sometliing of the uprightness, the wisdom, 
the fidelity, the humihty, to be learned from 
the life of George Washington. 

Faithfully your Friend 

and Countrywoman, 



ThanksgivinCx Day, Not. 19th, 1858. 



E^ 



